


All Sacrificed

by jusrecht



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Alternate Reality, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-07-15
Updated: 2008-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:45:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jusrecht/pseuds/jusrecht
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things Suzaku will not do for Japan, there has never been a question about them. Because they don't exist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes, Suzaku woke up from a nightmare and found himself trapped still in a nightmare. Sometimes it was a different one, brighter, clearer perhaps, but a nightmare nonetheless. Sometimes it wasn’t, and at those times it was like he was seeing the world from behind a glass window and everything was moving, going, learning, except him, stuck in his own dimension that would not shift. And it pinned him down, reducing him to a spectator instead of the maker of his own destiny.

Gino said that he had a problem with accepting the past as the past and Suzaku never doubted even for one moment that he was right. But when he woke up this morning, he didn’t find tousled golden hair or an easy smile that kept his world into perspective, kept it from slipping to the wrong track. There was only an empty bed.

Which would be nothing out of ordinary, if he recognised the room.

Suzaku blinked as the morning light filtered into his eyes. Everything was pale, frozen in the newborn light like ice sculptures that shimmered and enticed. His eyelids felt unnaturally heavy, as if they were filled with warm solid mist, but consciousness was slow to trail along. He could only feel – the air was still, his skin cold, and his body numb.

But when he attempted to move, it screamed.

Suzaku sank back to the pillow with a rasped moan, tears bleeding in his eyes. It was hard not to remember then, not with the proof itself, the resounding pain drumming loudly against his senses. His entire body was throbbing, protesting at the slightest shifting of muscles, and so he lay still, chest heaving quietly, and waited for the aching to subside. His nose picked up a familiar scent from the sheet and pillow, and he tried not to flinch lest it tempted the bolt of pain once more.

Oh yes, he remembered it all too clearly.

“You’re awake.”

His head snapped up at the toneless voice. Zero had just entered the bedroom, already attired in his usual garb and mask. His fingers were slowly fixing a cuff, his movements deliberate, but Suzaku could feel a pair of eyes watching him from behind that mask. It was sure convenient, he thought sarcastically, since others were unable to see his eyes and return the courtesy. There was something like shame as he lay there unmoving, an object of Zero’s – _mocking? amused?_ – scrutiny and very aware of his state of undress in this broad daylight. But even it felt distant, like it was the dream and his blurred, rotting thoughts were the one which claimed the throne of reality instead.

He was still in a nightmare.

“I have an early meeting to attend,” the terrorist spoke again, his voice clear-cut and precise, with a kind of sharpness that jabbed and mocked. “You know how to find your room, don’t you?”

Suzaku did not deign the question – if it was really one – with a reply. He shifted lower on the bed, biting his lips when another surge of pain flared from his lower spine, and directed his gaze to the richly ornamented ceiling, determined to ignore his…

…spouse.

The word made him cringe, but Suzaku kept his eyes trained on the curving pattern interlacing above him. It was the only room in this house which was decorated in western style, extravagantly so that it could easily compete with the bedrooms in the Imperial Palace. Everyone knew Zero could get whatever he wanted here in this part of the world, and Suzaku had nothing to say as long as he had his own bedroom.

“Fine, be that way if you want,” Zero snapped, a definite hint of irritation shading his voice. He walked toward the bed, his movement as graceful as that of a dancer – he had always been graceful, Suzaku remembered – and tossed a bundle of paper onto the bed. “This is your schedule for today. I already told Sayoko to give your secretary a copy to arrange it with yours.” He paused, and for a moment Suzaku thought that he would sit down on the bed, but he only continued, “Naturally you will be quite busy as Britannia’s representative for Japan, but there are many public events that we should attend as a couple, especially in the first few weeks after the nuptials.”

Suzaku spared the topmost sheet only a glimpse, words and numbers cramped together on the white paper with the Order of the Black Knight’s symbol emblazoned at the top. He had not expected this kind of treatment, but Suzaku couldn’t say that he was at all surprised.

“Is there anything else?” he asked dryly, a sentiment which was perfectly matched by his voice, roughened still by hours of lack of use.

Zero cocked his head toward him and said, a smirk in his low timbre, “Why does it sound like you want me to order you around?”

Suzaku wished he could laugh at the terrorist – the absurdity of the idea was nothing short of laughable – but frustration won and strangled the urge until it wilted and die. Zero, a wonderful pragmatist that he was, pretended that he had not noticed.

“I can’t say that I’m surprised, the way you behaved last night,” he continued steadily, amusement colouring his voice like a taunt. “You seemed to like it when I–”

“Are you going to keep your promise?” Suzaku interrupted him, his voice tight with tension and anger. He couldn’t stop his body from shaking, but hell if he was going to listen to this nonsense.

“Of course,” the reply slid out smoothly, as smooth and tempting as silk. “You have paid the price, and therefore I shall give you Japan.”

Suzaku only stared at him. It was almost surreal, the way the words sank abruptly and almost viciously. A part of him didn’t want to believe Zero, a person who wielded words like weapon, deadly and treacherous, but the idea that he would not have to see this room, this bed anymore clutched him in a sort of relief that choked him with its tiny tendrils. There might be mortification in it too, but Suzaku wondered if he still had any, after everything he had done in order to arrive at this point.

“I don’t have time now, but we can discuss more about it at lunch,” Zero said again and turned toward the door. “There’s the interview before that, so don’t be late. And wear something white that isn’t your knight uniform.”

Suzaku felt a bitter reply rising up his throat but swallowed it back. There would be other times, better times to indulge his rage. Right now, he just wanted the terrorist to get out of his sight.

Zero, on other hand, steadfastly ignored his lack of response and stopped by the writing desk. “This came for you by the way.” He picked up a white envelope, tossing it toward his direction. It fell on top of the schedule and Suzaku stared at it, eyes wide with surprise as a jolt of sickening hope made his stomach lurch. “Very romantic, isn’t he?” the other man added wryly.

He would have snarled at Zero to mind his own business, but the terrorist had left the room before he could tear his gaze from the envelope. It was still sealed, and despite having received thousands of congratulation cards for his wedding yesterday, he knew this one was different. He didn’t even need the scrawled handwriting addressing his name to tell him that.

His fingers were trembling as they worked on the seal. It was an ordinary card, with a picture of a rose and a note with an elegant inscription of ‘thinking of you’ next to it on the cover. The inside was filled with the same scrawled handwriting he had come to know so well.

_I’m going back to Egypt today. Direct order from His Majesty._  
Sorry if I made you angry yesterday. I was just really upset. Forgive me?  
Love you.  
Gino 

The words quickly blurred, turning into black splotches across the white, but Suzaku did nothing to stop the tears.

There was no use pretending anymore.

**_End Overture_ **


	2. Chapter 2

It was Monday.

He used to hate Mondays. Waking up early in the morning, grabbing a hurried breakfast if he could afford the time, and then getting to wherever he needed to be that day – destroying their enemy’s lines or blowing up things, depending on His Majesty’s mood. Often he wouldn’t see a bed until a few days after and during those times, his familiarity with Lancelot would even reach a point where it was more than a little disturbing for normal people. Lloyd was of course ecstatic with this 'progress'. Cecile was evidently less pleased and spent half of her time fussing over his health and shoving dubiously edible food down his throat.

It all changed the day he married Zero. Now he had a house where everything was properly managed, right from the moment he opened his eyes to the moment he climbed up to bed again that night. Breakfasts would be served in the breakfast parlour, one of Zero's many little whims concerning the household arrangements in their house. Lunches were done separately in their respective office. Dinner sometimes followed the same pattern unless there were dinner parties, both business and social occasions which seemed to lay siege on them since their wedding.

In a way, these routines were something he had hoped for. Stability. Running a country was no small matter and this was more difficult still with the necessity to maintain the balance between what His Majesty wanted, what Zero wanted, and what _he_ wanted for his country. But the former terrorist normally kept to his word and let him make the decisions, only making an input when the situation called for it. The fact remained that the other man was still smarter than him, and as long as his opinions did not cause Japan any detriment, Suzaku decided that he wasn’t above asking.

Stability. Everything he could ask for. Dissensions and differences still existed, unavoidable for a country which had been torn in two for years, with hate running in its rivers and blood drenching its soils. But he had been trying, six months of disentangling those knots and trying to make this near-impossible arrangement work. And when he went to bed every night, at least it was with a thought that he had done something.

Perhaps. Of course he knew it wouldn’t be easy. He only wished that it could be a little easier.

The other challenge came at night. Sleeping alone was nothing new for him, but when he lay himself down on his soft bed and tried to lull his consciousness to sleep, there were things he would remember. Wars. Nights spent in the arms of unrest and tension. The distant wails of alarm. Reclining on a blanket on the hangar floor, staring at the grey lofty ceiling because he was dead tired but still wide awake. He would remember Gino’s arm around his waist, and then the murmur of conversations on mundane topics because neither of them wanted to think about tomorrow – more wars, destroying, killing. And then the chaste kiss to his lips, light, warm, comforting, everything a kiss should be.

It hadn’t been heaven, not with his debts dangling unpaid and blood staining his hands under the white, pristine gloves, but sometimes Suzaku looked at what he had had once and hated what he had now. Now, Mondays signified a change, from an entire day in a house which seemed to choke him alive with the presence of _that_ man in the next bedroom, to an office which ripped out and diced his heart into tiny pieces with its nonstop problems.

Choose the lesser evil, they said. The problem was he couldn’t decide which it was.

This Monday morning didn’t seem to be any different – the strained silence, only interrupted by the sharp clicking of his chopsticks and bowls. Breakfast had always been an unpleasant affair, but month after month of nothing but unpleasantness had molded him into cold steel. Japanese breakfast was a luxury, he had always told himself, and everything would have still tasted the same in front of his spouse. Zero, as usual, did not eat anything – did not even bother to remove his mask in his presence. He only sat at the other side of their breakfast table, a stack of newspapers in front of him, and there he would read page after page, sometimes commenting on one or two articles as a part of his attempts to establish a semblance of normal conversation between them.

Suzaku did not try to help him. It might be awkward, but he would rather keep it that way with this man. On the other hand, Zero still kept doing this whole breakfast charade as if he was impervious to failures. Or maybe he just didn’t care whether his attempts yielded any success or not. Suzaku couldn’t say he did either.

And so the silence went on, a seemingly endless field of thorns, until Zero lowered his newspaper and shattered the picture suddenly with his flat, rumbling voice.

“What do you say if we adopt a child?”

Suzaku froze, and then swallowed the bit of grilled fish in his mouth before staring at the other man incredulously. “What?”

“I said, what do you say if we adopt a child?”

“Adopt a child,” Suzaku repeated carefully after a moment of strained pause. He knew that his husband was a former terrorist and a lunatic, but this was nothing short of ridiculous.

“Yes.” There was a peculiar note in Zero’s voice. “Obviously neither of us can bear a child, so adoption is the only solution, isn’t it?”

 _The only solution my ass_ was on his lips, but six months of being the other man’s spouse taught Suzaku much about circumspection – and more importantly, its merits. Biting the inside of his mouth, he put down his chopsticks and tried to keep his voice at a reasonably calm level when he responded, “I don’t see why we need to have any child at all.”

“We’re husband-and-wife,” the other man said matter-of-factly while his fingers folded the newspaper in a methodical manner. “Or husband-and-husband, if you like,” he added when he noticed the look on Suzaku’s face.

Another pause, heavier than the last spanned across the parlour. Suzaku took a deep breath and then said coldly, “You didn’t answer my question.”

“People do not like to see us like this,” Zero replied with an impatient tone. “The euphoria, the marital bliss is over. Now they see us only as two men, bound by a pact and something like convenience for the sake of our two nations. It’s very brittle – not to mention unconvincing – union, we must admit.”

“And the presence of a child will make it stronger?”

“Undoubtedly.”

This time, there was no pause. Suzaku just laughed and buried his face between his fingers, the sound hollow and dry in the sunlit room. He could feel tears in his eyes but he felt them so often nowadays that he hardly cared anymore.

“I see that the idea amuses you,” Zero then said again, still using that aloof tone which spoke of nothing but incredible conceit.

“That’s not the word for it,” he answered after his laughter died down into a strangled feeling. “Do you really think I’ll agree to your so-called _idea_?”

“You will do anything for Japan.”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with Japan.” Suzaku could feel hatred dripping from his own voice. Always. Using Japan as a trump card because he knew it would win him any round with him.

“Oh yes, it does,” the other man replied calmly. “You haven’t forgotten, have you, that a king ought to do everything to keep his people happy?”

“Happy,” he deadpanned, and fought down another urge to laugh – or perhaps to fasten his fingers around that neck and bring an end to this misery. “And of course our adopting a child will make them happy.”

“Naturally,” Zero’s answer was a casual drawl. “So what do you say?”

“Over my dead body,” Suzaku hissed and rose to his feet, leaving Zero to stare after his back as he slammed the door shut behind him.

**_End Chapter_ **


	3. Chapter 3

It only took Gino two minutes in the room to realise that he had been trapped.

Inside the white folder which had just been handed to him was a photograph of a beautiful young woman, probably no more than eighteen of age. Her curled brown hair fell past her bare shoulders in a stylish fashion, ending just at the top of her pink dress. Curving her lips was a proud little smile that seemed almost slighting and yet enhanced her regal beauty in a detached, almost impervious way. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place her among so many names whirling inside his head after three weeks of attending balls and smiling at every pretty lady whose eyes he happened to catch.

“So what do you think?” his mother asked, an eager note in her voice. She was sitting across the coffee table from him, delicately stirring a cup of tea while she waited for his answer. Gino allowed himself a furtive glance at her, and then wished that he had not. The purpose of this small family meeting couldn’t have been more obvious.

“Lady Wilhelmina Reiner,” he finally managed to scavenge the name from blurred memories of parties, dancing pairs, and colourful dresses. “The eldest daughter of Lord Reiner, isn’t she?”

His mother nodded, looking pleased with his reply. “A fine young woman, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know her very well,” he evaded a direct answer and closed the folder, leaving it on the centre of the table – a middle ground. Sitting in an armchair near the sunlit window, his father had yet to say a word.

“Ah, you mean personally,” his mother said again, her tittering voice rising slightly in excitement. “I dare say it will change soon, so there is no need to worry yourself over it.”

Gino felt his lips thinning. “What do you mean, Mother?”

“Why, an engagement of course!” she exclaimed, smiling brightly. “Wilhelmina is absolutely wonderful, an exceptionally fine young lady even to our family’s standard. She will make a perfect companion for one’s life, don’t you think?”

Perfectly miserable, he thought dryly. He wished that his mother could stop trying to get him to agree with her – ‘ _don’t you think_ ’ had been her favourite phrase since he could remember, that frustrating passive-aggressive method she had long since honed to get her way – but it seemed that hope was lost today. She was especially determined, and they would have this discussion whether he liked it or not.

It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with arranged marriages – all his three older brothers had gone through similar predicament and invariably succumbed to their fate after only a marginal fight. His second brother had not even raised any objection to being married off to a lady eight years older than he was. Gino considered himself fairly fortunate that he had been able to dodge any kind of arrangement so far. His mother might have mentioned such inclinations a few times, but one way or another, he had always managed to worm his way out before it could have developed into any serious notion. The fact that he was a Knight of Rounds and held a fairly important position in the military also proved to be a tremendous help in this sector.

But it seemed that his luck had finally run out this evening – his father’s presence was a proof in and for itself. Lord Weinberg, a proud, self-opinionated man of fifty, rarely meddled in his family’s domestic affairs and was usually content to leave them in the hands of his wife. The same man, however, had curiously been showing a definite increase of attention in his youngest son’s personal life since…

…oh. Of course.

Gino suppressed a dry smirk. Of course his father would be concerned. He would imagine that Suzaku was the farthest conception they had in mind of an ideal spouse for any of their son. The fact that he had declared his love for the other knight in front of practically _everyone_ who mattered clearly did not help to prevent the ruin of their family’s dignity.

Gino couldn’t say that he cared much. He didn’t harbour any deep or intense love for his parents – certainly nothing like what he held for Suzaku, although he had been so incredibly stupid and the realisation had come much too late. And he was already a man on his own, no longer a little boy cowering under his father’s towering shadow or curling alone in his bed yearning for the affectionate touch of a mother who never cared a scrap for him.

It was all over now.

“So what do you think?” his mother asked again, her eyes still glittering with barely suppressed enthusiasm.

Jaw set squarely, Gino looked at her and answered flatly, “No.”

Her smile withered, distorted into something much less pleasant as she slowly set down her white china cup, hands trembling during the effort. “What do you mean ‘no’?” she demanded, her voice shaking ever so slightly.

“I will not marry her,” he said bluntly. “I already did everything you asked, attending balls, tea parties, masquerades, practically every social occasion you wanted me to go to. But I will never, ever marry only because you order me to.”

“But it will be a perfect match!” she almost screeched. “Oh, Gino, think about your future for once!”

“My answer is still no,” he said firmly and prepared to leave. “I will never marry someone I don’t love, let alone some girl I’ve only met once in my life. And you cannot make me.”

“Don’t be a fool,” his father suddenly hissed, cutting into the conversation, his voice sharp and cold. “That _boy_ is married.”

Gino felt a bitter smirk twisting his mouth and met his father’s eyes with a challenging gaze. “Then I’m afraid it means I will never marry for the rest of my life,” he declared and rose to his feet, fully intent on leaving.

“Gino!”

It was the tone his mother was using which made him whirl around again, eyes blazing as he looked at each of his parents. “Wasn’t it enough?” he said through gritted teeth, felt his entire body shaking with rage. “Three of your sons. You’ve sacrificed them all and their happiness for what, status and connection. You sold them without as much as a blink and now you expect me to do the same?”

“There is nothing more important than status and connection in our world.” It was his father’s disdainful, condescending voice that answered him, each word delivered like a punch to his gut. “You will see that once you’ve decided to stop being childish and grow up.”

Gino balled his hands, anger coursing through his veins so fast that he felt slightly dizzy. “We must be living in two very different worlds,” he said stiffly, voice matching that of his father. The older Weinberg only regarded him with undisguised contempt and Gino wasted no time to leave the room, ignoring his mother who was still furiously calling his name. He needed to get out of this house.

He stormed out toward his car which was parked just a little away from the entrance of the mansion. Thankfully it was a summer evening and the sun was still high up in the sky. Gino slammed the front door shut and skimmed through the list of options in his mind rapidly. His flat was only three-hour drive away, in the heart of the city, and with the mood he was in right now, he even might be able to make it in two. He could send for his things later – they were only fancy clothes anyway.

The engine roared to life and the sprawling Weinberg estate was falling fast behind as he sped his car down the country road. His anger wasn’t abating. He was used to their treatment to him – no more than a _thing_ in their eyes, a tool to solidify their family’s status among the ranks of Britannian nobility – but once Suzaku’s name entered the discussion, it suddenly lurched into a whole different level. No one was allowed to take his love for the other knight lightly – he had done that and as a result had been regretting it ever since. No one, and most certainly not his parents.

And then to _helpfully_ remind him about the marriage. Gino gripped the steering wheel and sent his car flying even faster, somewhat grateful for the scarce traffic in this part of the world. He was the last person on earth who needed to be reminded that Suzaku was now off-limits. He was the one who had spent his nights alone fantasising about the other knight in his bed and cursing at his stupid self and his wasted opportunity. He was the one who–

A shadow suddenly loomed before him. Gino realised, belatedly, that he had missed a turn, that his car had slipped out of the road and now was racing full speed into a tree. He stepped on the brake firmly, desperately, but knew that it could only do little. He was going to crash.

His eyes snapped shut involuntarily when the impact came, a sickening sound of metal and wood crushing each other. His upper body was violently slammed onto the steering wheel and for one indefinite moment, the world shrank into one black void. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but register the consuming dread at the realisation that he had crashed.

And possibly was halfway to the other side as well.

Minutes slowly passed and he sat there still, petrified, trying to figure out the beginnings and ends of every thought that flitted across his numb mind. And then there was the slow trickle of discovery, so slow that his mind almost recoiled from it in suspicion. But then it became clearer – he was alive, he was alive, _yes he was alive_ – and even more slowly, started to make sense.

Nothing had ever felt so surreal. Eyes opening little by little, Gino tried to fleck his fingers, finding them unwilling to release their iron grip on the steering wheel, and then tried to swallow. It tasted bitter – _fear_ – and he could feel the beginning of many painful bruises on his face and chest. Was there any blood, anything broken? He couldn’t really tell.

It had felt like hours before he finally regained a clearer vision and braved himself to glance up. The tree was there, hovering over him, an embodiment of a nightmare in the declining light. And then his gaze shifted lower. It wasn’t as bad as he had feared – there was a large dent on the front of his car, where it had made a collision against the bark, but it seemed that he had managed to avoid smashing his car completely.

Gino took in a shaky breath and rested his forehead on the wheel, feeling the cool leather under his perspiring skin. That had been very stupid. He could have lost his life, only out of anger – and to his parents at that. What could have been more stupid?

There was only silence around him, sometimes the forlorn whisper of the wind and the distant cawing of birds. Gino never liked to be alone. What he wouldn’t give to see Suzaku again right now, to feel those soothing fingers running through his hair, hear that gentle voice humming quietly in his ears as they talked about fifty mundane subjects that crossed their mind that day. Sometimes Suzaku would bend down slightly, dropping a small kiss to the top of his head, his subdued smile lightly tinged by embarrassment, and he would smile back, accept it, enjoy it, but never appreciate it until…

Gino huffed noisily, frustration and annoyance rising fast, eclipsing the cold aftertaste of shock. He had tried to forget the other knight, to get on with his life, to find someone else to make love with, because what kind of idiot would spend the rest of his life pining for a person who has tossed him aside to marry a masked terrorist. Gino wanted to be sensible for once – madly, desperately wanted to – but it was too damn impossible if he couldn’t even get Suzaku out of his mind. That kiss in the cathedral had made certain of it. Suzaku loved him, loved him so much that his voice cracked and his body trembled, and damn if it hadn’t made him fall even deeper. And feel even more hopeful.

Sometimes he hated that optimistic part of him.

Gino felt around the pocket of his trousers and pulled out his cell phone, running an unsteady thumb across the keys. It had been eight days since their last phone call. They were few and far in between nowadays, and a definite far cry from their relationship before any of this had happened. Now the two of them couldn’t even talk without twenty shades of formal and awkwardness soaking in every word like poison.

His lips thinned. There was no place for any more regret. He hit the first speed dial and waited, his heartbeat loud against the stillness of the dusk.

The answer came after the fourth ring. “Kururugi Suzaku,” the voice said, in that absent tone which indicated that he was either in a hurry to go somewhere or in the middle of floundering through paperwork. Gino felt his throat tightening.

“Hey.”

There was a slight pause, and then a tentative, “Gino.”

“Busy over there?” he tried to sound casual, to keep his voice as normal as possible. Whether he succeeded or not he couldn’t really tell.

“You can say that.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t disturb you.”

“No, please,” the other knight said hastily, a little too anxiously, and Gino could not suppress a smile. Suzaku really did wonders to him, and this was only his voice – over the phone no less. “I want… I mean, I want to…”

“Hear my voice?” he offered helpfully, already grinning despite his condition. Suzaku didn’t reply, but neither was Gino expecting one. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the sound of soft breathing, flowing across the line like an old, distant lullaby.

“I miss you.”

A sharper intake of breath. He could picture Suzaku clearly in his mind, biting the inside of his mouth, left hand clasping the receiver tightly. His lips would part, but no word would come out just yet. Uncertainty demanded its turn and Suzaku would oblige – he always would, in this kind of thing – his tongue licking dry lips with slow, little swipes. And the he would sigh, the sound caressing Gino’s ears, and the rest of the world would dwindle into four little words.

“I miss you too,” he murmured, a quiet lilt in his voice, a little tremor at the tail-end of the sentence. Gino felt another smile quirking the edges of his mouth.

“Glad to hear that.” He leant back to his seat, staring at a stray branch which dangled right in front of the windshield. “I’m off to Gibraltar next week.”

More silence. A flock of birds cawed and flew to the direction of the setting sun. Suzaku’s voice was a shade too faint when he finally said, “His Majesty’s order?”

“Of course, why else would I go there?” His voice was dry, but he did not try to tone it down. With Zero and his Black Knight Order out of the immediate enemy list, now the empire was free to pick a fight with E.U.

“But Gibraltar?”

He laughed, ignoring how strained it sounded. “Well, with you settled all nice and proper in Japan, I’m afraid we rather lack manpower here.”

As soon as the words had left his mouth, Gino began to regret them. “Damn it, Suzaku, I didn’t mean–“

“It’s okay,” the other knight’s voice was smooth, resigned. “I didn’t take any offence.”

“You should,” he heard himself blurt out. “I love it when you get all hot and angry.”

It was a bad joke, Gino knew, especially with the kind of circumstances they were trapped in now. He expected an offended reply, or even a plain, irritated order to shut up, but neither came. In fact, nothing came at all and he was suddenly afraid that the gulf between them had become so vast that Suzaku no longer considered him _anything_. He would rather have the other angry at him than–

“Gino,” Suzaku suddenly said, his voice soft, with a touch of hesitation, “is there anything wrong?”

Gino swore his heart had stopped for a moment.

“No,” he forced himself to answer after a thick swallow, keeping his voice even through all levels of lie every syllable had to be dragged out. “Nothing big. Just my parents. They tried to marry me off to some girl I barely knew.”

“Oh.” There was a strained pause. “And?”

“And what?”

Another pause. Gino started to think that Suzaku had become way too fond – or worse, dependent – of pauses nowadays. “Nothing. Never mind.”

It was a faint mutter, but that sickly feeling of hope sparked in his chest, a sting so familiar by now that Gino couldn’t even scream anymore. “Are you jealous?” he asked point-blank.

“No,” the reply was quick and stiff, and then a little detached. “I don’t have any right to be.”

“I don’t care. Are you?”

Perhaps Suzaku was taken aback by his tone of voice. When he spoke again, his voice was tense. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Why is it so hard for you to admit that you love me?” Gino accused, voice already rising.

“Gino,” the other was now clearly pleading. He could almost see Suzaku’s face, the shadows under his eyes lined with pain, weariness, nights spent on wishing and regretting. “Please, can we talk about something else?”

It was clear that they were not going anywhere with this. Gino tried to swallow his frustration. “Fine,” he said flatly. “What do you want to talk about?”

There was a long moment of silence. Again. It felt like all they had now were silence and more silences, and each for him was a small nudge to that line between madness and sanity, slow but oh-so-certain, because he discovered that he couldn’t decipher any of them. These silences were mute. Empty.

“He wants to adopt a child.”

It was spoken so hurriedly and Gino needed a few seconds to make sure that he heard it right. And when he had, the white hot anger that rushed through him was so blinding that he couldn’t see anything for a moment. “ _That_ is your alternative?” His voice was shrill, shaking. “You’re sick, Suzaku, you’re just so sick.”

“Maybe I am,” Suzaku hissed, sounding no less hysterical. “Maybe I am. That will explain everything.”

Gino felt the back of his head digging into the headrest and had to exercise everything he had to keep himself from shouting, from admitting how truly fucked-up they had become.

“He really wants an adoption? With you?” His voice was dull, but he hardly cared anymore.

“I didn’t mean to say that,” Suzaku’s answer was wretched, faltering. “It just came out. I’m sorry.”

“Are you really?” the mocking accusation had escaped his mouth, sinking its fangs into the slab of silence before he realised it. Gino fought down an urge to pummel himself. “Damn it. _Damn it_.” He bit his lips, shut his eyes tightly, sucked in a large gulp of air. None of them helped. In the end he just gave up and asked bluntly, “Why are we doing this to each other?”

There was no answer. Perhaps there wasn’t any to begin with. Gino ran a hand through his hair weakly, tired of wishing, hating, being angry. Tired of trying to believe that everything was all right when they were obviously not.

In the end it was still him who broke the stony silence. “Can I ask you to do something?”

“What?” came the soft, miserable reply from the line. He could imagine Suzaku sitting behind his office desk, eyes closed tightly.

“Put your cell on the desk but don’t hang up,” he said quietly, unable to lend any inflection to his voice. “Turn up the volume to the max, just leave it there and do your everyday business like usual. Talk to whoever you want, read the reports, sign the documents. Don’t pay attention to me.” He held the mouthpiece closer to his lips. “I just want to hear you. Your movement. Your breathing. Your voice. All day. I just want to hear you.”

The silence which followed next was deafening. It was far from empty, but no longer had any desire to probe and analyze it – not when it was filled with sharp, jabbing needles that would make him bleed and bleed, until it was close enough to taunt him with death.

“It will be a waste of money,” Suzaku finally replied, reasonable and yet not at the same time. But Gino caught the slight tremor underlining every word, each sound strumming a string inside his heart painfully, and gripped his cell phone even tighter.

“Never,” he vowed, his voice fierce, clear against the utter stillness surrounding him. “Will you do it?”

Seconds ticked by, each sliver a step dragged through hell. Gino knew that they both had lost when he heard the faint, muffled sob.

“Yes.”

He released the breath he had unconsciously been holding. It felt like a tumble over the cliff, the air out of his lungs, and then the wind rustling down the length of his body as he fell and fell and fell. Glorious, but sickening.

“Thank you,” he whispered, biting back the ‘I love you’ just in time before it could slip past his lips. They already had enough argument for the day.

Enough hurting each other for the day.

\-----

It was almost dark outside. Lelouch unlatched the window and gave the glass a little push, welcoming the evening breeze to lighten the air inside his bedroom. It slithered along his skin, a cool touch on damp, naked flesh as he breathed in with something close to relief. C.C. was lounging on the bed, her pale body splayed unashamedly on the dark-blue sheet, eyes closed in a meditative contemplation. Her scent still lingered in his nose, but it was much more tolerable now – compared to a few minutes ago when they had been struggling against each other in the heat of passion. And he hated it – hated it as much as he wanted it.

“And what did he say?” she suddenly said, her voice crawling lazily between beats of silence.

Lelouch closed his eyes, felt the wind caressing his face. The window gave out a view to the garden at the back of the residence, a sprawling field of endless green with a sprinkle of flowers here and there, their colours lost in the deepening dusk. Here, from this window, was the closest he had ever been to freedom nowadays, without the mask, without the weight of the black cape across his thin shoulders. It was an empty victory, because without Zero he was nothing since his sister’s death, but he savoured the emptiness, loving it as much as hating it.

“He refused, naturally,” he finally replied, his voice neutral.

“You expected that.”

Lelouch did not bother to hide his sneer. “I’m his husband, of course I expected the worst.”

“A difficult marriage,” she remarked, tonelessly but it caused a painful twinge in his chest. He threw her a dry smirk over his shoulder.

“Sympathy? How touching.”

“Hardly,” C.C. scoffed, tepid golden eyes finally focusing on him, a strange pale glow in the darkening room. “He hasn’t let you touch him since your wedding night, has he?”

Lelouch did not answer. He didn’t want to think about that night and how it had ceased to be anything about Nunnally or his revenge only halfway toward the end. It had been something else entirely. Suzaku had brought out the absolute worst in him and the rest of the night had only been about him, too caught up, too immersed in what he had been doing to this boy who had sold his body and happiness for his country. It was a glorious, sickening feeling, and the memory of it still made him tremble even now.

Amazing how Suzaku continued to be the person he hated and craved the most.

Sometimes Lelouch also found himself wondering about that Britannian man. The fourth son of a duke, and quite high-ranking in military too. He had the most steadfast, the most honest gaze Lelouch had ever seen in years, when he had stood there at the base of the steps and declared his love to the man who had been about to throw him aside and marry someone else. It had shaken him, to the point where there was nothing else he wanted more in the world but to rip them apart.

And he succeeded. Tremendously. Suzaku was too predictable in this kind of thing, what with that so-called honour of his. Affair was a sin to his eyes, a proof of depravity. The White Knight couldn’t risk himself to sink any lower than he already had. It would destroy him.

Lelouch rested his head on the windowsill, a sour laugh threatening to escape his tightening throat. He didn’t even know why he did this anymore, why he was still doing it – why he couldn’t stop doing it.

“Why a child?” C.C.’s voice smoothly pierced the silence, jerking him out of his thoughts.

“It’s the easiest solution,” he answered dully. The wind was now biting into his rapidly cooling skin and he left the window, looking for something to wrap himself in. C.C. still hadn’t tried to cover herself with anything, but now she was sitting on the bed, legs drawn close to her chest.

“You’re playing with fire,” she told him, bluntly, utterly without pity.

Lelouch snorted, wondering if he should be amused. He remembered those evenings when he got home first, how he often watched Suzaku returning to their Japanese-styled house, dressed in his starched white uniform and smiling tiredly at the maid who opened the front door for him; and how that smile would die instantly once he saw him looking down from the top of the stairs, replaced by a scowl edged with disgust and so much hurt that he had to look away.

“I’m already burned,” he murmured, and laughed quietly to himself.

**_End Chapter_ **


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